JPJ^CEJ^J-^ 
THE 


ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP: 


COLLECTION    OF    SONGS 


WILLIAM   W.    BROWN 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED  BY   BELA   MARSH,   NO.  25  CdRNHILL,  } 

1651. 


BAXIN  &  CHANIM.FR,  Printer..-,  37  Cornhill. 


THE 


ANTI-SLAVERY  HARP: 


COLLECTION  OF  SONGS 


ANTI-SLAVERY  MEETINGS. 


COMPILED 


WILLIAM  W.  BROWN. 


THIRD   EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED   BY  BELA  MARSH, 

No.  25  Cornhill. 

1851. 


Press  of  Bazin  &  Chandler, 
No.  37  Cornhill. 


SONGS. 


FREEDOM'S   BANNER. 

AIR— Freedom's  Banner. 

MY  country,  shall  thy  honored  name, 
Be  as  a  by-word  through  the  world  ? 

Rouse  !  for  as  if  to  blast  thy  fame, 
This  keen  reproach  is  at  thee  hurled  ; 

The  banner  that  above  the  waves, 
Is  floating  over  three  millions  slaves. 

That  flag,  my  country,  I  had  thought, 
From  noble  sires  was  given  to  thee  ; 

By  the  best  blood  of  patriots  bought, 
To  wave  alone  above  the  Free  ! 

Yet  now,  while  to  the  breeze  it  waves, 

It  floats  above  three  millions  slaves. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

The  mighty  dead  that  flag  unrolled, 

They  bathed  it  in  the  heaven's  own  blue  ; 

They  sprinkled  stars  upon  each  fold, 
And  gave  it  as  a  trust  to  you  ; 

And  now  that  glorious  banner  waves 

In  shame  above  three  millions  slaves. 

O,  by  the  virtues  of  our  sires, 

And  by  the  soil  on  which  they  trod, 

And  by  the  trust  their  name  inspires, 
And  by  the  hope  we  have  in  God, 

Arouse,  my  country,  and  agree 

To  set  thy  captive  children  free. 

Arouse  !  and  let  each  hill  and  glen 

With  prayer  to  the  high  heavens  ring  out, 

Till  all  our  land  with  freeborn  men, 
May  join  in  one  triumphant  shout, 

That  freedom's  banner  does  not  wave 

Its  folds  above  a  single  slave. 


O,  PITY   THE   SLAVE   MOTHER! 

AIR — Araby's  Daughter. 

I  pity  the  slave  mother,  careworn  and  weary,     * 

Who  sighs  as  she  presses  her  babe  to  her  breast ; 
I  lament  her  sad  fate,  all  so  hopeless  and  dreary, 

I  lament  for  her  woes,  and  her  wrongs  unredressed. 
O  who  can  imagine  her  heart's  deep  emotion, 

As  she  thinks  of  her  children  about  to  be  sold  ; 
You  may  picture  the  bounds  of  the  rock-girdled  ocean, 

But  the  grief  of  that  mother  can  never  be  known. 

The  mildew  of  slavery  has  blighted  each  blossom, 

That  ever  has  bloomed  in  her  pathway  below  ; 
It  has  froze  every  fountain  that  gushed  in  her  bosom, 

And  chilled  her  heart's  verdure  with  pitiless  woe ; 
Her  parents,  her  kindred,  all  crushed  by  oppression  ; 

Her  husband  still  doomed  in  its  desert  to  stay  ; 
No  arm  to  protect  from  the  tyrant's  aggression  — 

She  must  weep  as  she  treads  on  her  desolate  way. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  i 

O,  slave  mother,  hope  !  see  —  the  nation  is  shaking  ! 

The  arm  of  the  Lord  is  awake  to  thy  wrong ! 
The  slave-holder's  heart  now  with  terror  is  quaking, 

Salvation  and  Mercy  to  Heaven  belong ! 
Rejoice,  O,  rejoice !  for  the  child  thou  art  rearing, 

May  one  day  lift  up  its  unrnanacled  form, 
While  hope,  to  thy  heart,  like  the  rain-bow  so  cheering, 

Is  born,  like  the  rain-bow,  'mid  tempest  and  storm. 


THE   BLIND   SLAVE   BOY. 

AIR— Sweet  Aftoo. 

Come  back  to  me,  mother  !  why  linger  away 
From  thy  poor  little  blind  boy,  the  long  weary  day  ! 
I  mark  every  footstep,  I  list  to  each  tone, 
And  wonder  my  mother  should  leave  me  alone  ! 
There  are  voices  of  sorrow  and  voices  of  glee, 
But  there's  no  one  to  joy  or  to  sorrow  with  me  ; 
For  each  hath  of  pleasure  and  trouble  his  share, 
And  none  for  the  poor  little  blind  boy  will  care. 

My  mother,  come  back  to  me  !  close  to  thy  breast 

Once  more  let  thy  poor  little  blind  one  be  pressed  ; 

Once  more  let  me  feel  thy  warm  breath  on  my  cheek, 

And  hear  thee  in  accents  of  tenderness  speak ! 

O  mother !  I've  no  one  to  love  me  —  no  heart 

Can  bear  like  thine  own  in  my  sorrows  a  part ; 

No  hand  is  so  gentle,  no  voice  is  so  kind  ! 

O  !  none  like  a  mother  can  cherish  the  blind  ! 

Poor  blind  one  !  no  mother  thy  wailing  can  hear, 
No  mother  can  hasten  to  banish  thy  fear  ; 
For  the  slave-owner  drives  her  o'er  mountain  and  wild, 
And  for  one  paltry  dollar  hath  sold  thee,  poor  child ! 
Ah  !  who  can  in  language  of  mortals  reveal 
The  anguish  that  none  but  a  mother  can  feel, 
When  man  in  his  vile  lust  of  mammon  hath  trod 
On  her  child,  who  is  stricken  and  smitten  of  God  ! 
1* 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

Blind,  helpless,  forsaken,  with  strangers  alone, 

She  hears  in  her  anguish  his  piteous  moan, 

As  he  eagerly  listens — but  listens  in  vain, 

To  catch  the  loved  tones  of  his  mother  again  ! 

The  curse  of  the  broken  in  spirit  shall  fall 

On  the  wretch  who  hath  mingled  this  wormwood  and  gall, 

And  his  gain  like  a  mildew  shall  blight  and  destroy, 

Who  hath  torn  from  his  mother  the  little  blind  boy  ! 


YE    SONS   OF   FREEMEN! 

AIR— Marseilles  Hymn. 

Ye  sons  of  freemen,  wake  to  sadness, 

Hark  !  hark  !  what  myriads  bid  you  rise ; 
Three  millions  of  our  race  in  madness 

Break  out  in  wails,  in  bitter  cries, 

Break  out  in  wails,  in  bitter  cries ; 
Must  men  whose  hearts  now  bleed  with  anguish, 

Yes,  trembling  slaves  in  freedom's  land, 

Endure  the  lash,  nor  raise  a  hand  ? 
Must  nature  'neath  the  whip-cord  languish  ? 

Have  pity  on  the  slave, 

Take  courage  from  God's  word  ; 

Pray  on,  pray  on,  all  hearts  resolved — these  captives   shall 
be  free. 

The  fearful  storm — it  threatens  lowering, 

Which  God  in  mercy  long  delays  ; 
Slaves  yet  may  see  their  masters  cowering, 

While  whole  plantations  smoke  and  blaze  ! 

While  whole  plantations  smoke  and  blaze  ; 
And  we  may  now  prevent  the  ruin, 

Ere  lawless  force  with  guilty  stride 

Shall  scatter  vengeance  far  and  wide — 
With  untold  crimes  their  hands  imbruing. 

Have  pity  on  the  slave  ; 

Take  courage  from  God's  word  ; 

Pray  on,  pray  on,  all  hearts  resolved — these  captives  shall 
be  free. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  7 

With  luxury  and  wealth  surrounded, 

The  southern  masters  proudly  dare, 
With  thirst  of  gold  and  power  unbounded, 

To  mete  and  vend  God's  light  and  air ! 

To  mete  and  vend  God's  light  and  air ; 
Like  beasts  of  burden,  slaves  are  loaded, 

Till  life's  poor  toilsome  day  is  o'er ; 

While  they  in  vain  for  right  implore  ; 
And  shall  they  longer  still  be  goaded  ? 

Have  pity  on  the  slave  ; 

Take  courage  from  God's  word  ; 

Toil  on,  toil  on,  all  hearts  resolved — these  captives  shall  be 
free. 

O  Liberty  !  can  man  e'er  bind  thee  ? 

Can  overseers  quench  thy  flame  ? 
Can  dungeons,  bolts,  or  bars  confine  thee, 

Or  threats  thy  Heaven -born  spirit  tame  ? 

Or  threats  thy  Heaven-born  spirit  tame  ; 
Too  long  the  slave  has  groaned,  bewailing 

The  power  these  heartless  tyrants  wield ; 

Yet  free  them  not  by  sword  or  shield, 
For  with  men's  hearts  they're  unavailing ; 

Have  pity  on  the  slave  ; 

Take  courage  from  God's  word  ; 
Toil  on  !  toil  on  !  all  hearts  resolved — these  captives   shall 

be  free ! 


FREEDOM'S   STAR. 

AIR — Silver  Moon. 

As  I  strayed  from  my  cot  at  the  close  of  the  day, 

I  turned  my  fond  gaze  to  the  sky  ; 
I  beheld  all  the  stars  as  so  sweetly  they  lay, 

And  but  one  fixed  my  heart  or  my  eye. 
Chorus. 

Shine  on,  northern  star,  thou'rt  beautiful  and  bright 

To  the  slave  on  his  journey  afar  ; 
For  he  speeds  from  his  foes  in  the  darkness  of  night, 

Guided  on  by  thy  light,  freedom's  star. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

On  thee  he  depends  when  he  threads  the  dark  woods 
Ere  the  bloodhounds  have  hunted  him  back  ; 

Thou  leadest  him  on  over  mountains  and  floods, 
With  thy  beams  shining  full  on  his  track. 

Shine  on,  &c. 

Unwelcome  to  him  is  the  bright  orb  of  day, 
As  it  glides  o'er  the  earth  and  the  sea  ; 

He  seeks  then  to  hide  like  a  wild  beast  of  prey, 
But  with  hope  rests  his  heart  upon  thee. 

Shine  on,  &c. 

May  never  a  cloud  overshadow  thy  face, 
While  the  slave  flies  before  his  pursuer ; 

Gleam  steadily  on  to  the  end  of  his  race, 
Till  his  body  and  soul  are  secure. 

Shine  on,  &c. 


THE   LIBERTY  BALL. 

AIR — Rosin  the  Bow. 

Come  all  ye  true  friends  of  the  nation, 

Attend  to  humanity's  call ; 
Come  aid  the  poor  slave's  liberation, 

And  roll  on  the  liberty  ball  — 

And  roll  on  the  liberty  ball  — 
Come  aid  the  poor  slave's  liberation, 
And  roll  on  the  liberty  ball. 

The  liberty  hosts  are  advancing  — 

For  freedom  to  all  they  declare  ; 
The  down-trodden  millions  are  sighing  — 

Come  break  up  our  gloom  of  despair. 

Come  break  up  our  gloom  of  despair,  &c. 

Ye  Democrats,  come  to  the  rescue, 

And  aid  on  the  liberty  cause, 
And  millions  will  rise  up  and  bless  you, 

With  heart-cheering  songs  of  applause, 

With  heart-cheering  songs,  &c. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

Ye  Whigs,  forsake  slavery's  minions, 
And  boldly  step  into  our  ranks  ; 

We  care  not  for  party  opinions, 

But  invite  all  the  friends  of  the  banks — 
And  invite  all  the  friends  of  the  banks,  &c. 

And  when  we  have  formed  the  blest  union 
We'll  firmly  march  on,  one  and  all  — 

We'll  sing  when  we  meet  in  communion, 
And  roll  on  the  liberty  ball, 
And  roll  on  the  liberty  ball,  &c. 


THE   NORTH   STAR. 

AIR — Oh  !  Susannah. 

Lo  !  the  Northern  Star  is  beaming 
With  a  new  and  glorious  light, 
And  its  cheering  radiance  streaming 

Through  the  clouds  of  misty  night ! 
Freemen !  in  your  great  Endeavor, 

'Tis  a  signal  hung  on  high, 
And  will  guide  us  on  forever, 
Like  a  banner  in  the  sky  ! 
Oh !  Star  of  Freedom, 

'Tis  the  star  for  me  ; 
'Twill  lead  me  off  to  Canada, 
There  I  will  be  free. 

Growing  brighter  in  all  ages, 

Cheering  Freedom  on  its  way, 
Shedding  o'er  Time's  clouded  pages 

Glimmers  of  the  coming  Day  — 
Ever  telling  Man  the  glory 

And  the  freedom  of  its  birth, 
Waiting  to  record  the  story 

Of  the  Freedom  of  the  Fourth  ! 
Oh  !  Star  of  Freedom, 
'Tis  the  star  for  me, 
'Twill  lead  me  off  to  Canada, 
There  I  will  be  free. 


10  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

The  mariner,  'mid  the  surging 

Of  the  stormy  waves  and  dark, 
Hails  the  Northern  Star  emerging 

From  the  clouds  above  his  bark  ! 
JTis  a  trust  that  faileth  never, 

And  a  light  that  never  dies  — 
'Tis  the  beacon-star  forever 
Beaming  in  the  arctic  skies  ! 
Oh  !  Star  of  Freedom, 
'Tis  the  star  for  me, 
'Twill  lead  me  off  to  Canada, 
There  I  will  be  free. 

'Tis  the  star  that  Freedom  claimeth 

As  her  emblem  pure  and  bright, 
And  we  watch  it  as  it  flameth 

"  In  the  dark  and  troubled  night :" 
While  we  march  to  battle  glorious, 

With  our  weapons,  Truth  and  Love, 
Freedom,  as  she  proves  victorious, 

Hails  the  Banner  Star   above  ! 
Oh  !  Star  of  Freedom,  &c. 


OVER  THE   MOUNTAIN. 

Over  the  mountain  and  over  the  moor, 
Hungry  and  weary  I  wander  forlorn ; 
My  father  is  dead  and  my  mother  is  poor, 

And  she  grieves  for  the  days  that  will  never  return  ; 
Give  me  some  food  for  my  mother  in  charity, 
Give  me  some  food  and  then  I  will  be  gone. 
Pity,  kind  gentlemen,  friends  of  humanity, 

Cold  blows  the  wind  and  the  night's  coming  on. 

Call  me  not  indolent  beggar  and  bold  enough, 

Fain  would  I  learn  both  to  knit  and  to  sew  ; 
I've  two  little  brothers  at  home,  when  they're  old  enough, 

They  will  work  hard  for  the  gifts  you  bestow  ; 
Pity,  kind  gentlemen,  friends  of  humanity, 

Cold  blows  the  wind,  and  the  night's  coming  on  ; 
Give  me  some  food  for  my  mother  in  charity, 

Give  me  some  food,  and  then  I  will  be  gone. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  11 


JUBILEE    SONG. 

AIR— Away  the  Bowl. 

Our  grateful  hearts  with  joy  overflow, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 
We  hail  the  Despot's  overthrow, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 
No  more  he'll  raise  the  gory  lash, 
And  sink  it  deep  in  human  flesh, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra. 

We  raise  the  song  in  Freedom's  name, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 
Her  glorious  triumph  we  proclaim, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 
Beneath  her  feet  lie  Slavery's  chains, 
Their  power  to  curse  no  more  remains, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra. 

With  joy  we'll  make  the  air  resound, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 
That  all  may  hear  the  gladsome  sound, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 
We  glory  at  Oppression's  fall, 
The  Slave  has  burst  his  deadly  thrall, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra. 

In  mirthful  glee  we'll  dance  and  sing, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 
With  shouts  we'll  make  the  welkin  ring, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 
Shout !  shout  aloud  !  the  bondsman's  free  ! 
This,  this  is  Freedom's  jubilee  ! 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra, 

Hurra,  Hurra,  Hurra. 


12  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

SPIRIT   OF  FREEMEN,  WAKE  ! 

AIR— America. 

Spirit  of  Freemen,  wake  ; 
No  truce  with  Slavery  make, 

Thy  deadly  foe ; 
In  fair  disguises  dressed, 
Too  long  hast  thou  caress' d 
The  serpent  in  thy  breast, 

Now  lay  him  low. 

Must  e'en  the  press  be  dumb  ? 
Must  truth  itself  succumb  ? 

And  thoughts  be  mute  ? 
Shall  law  be  set  aside, 
The  right  of  prayer  denied, 
Nature  and  God  decried, 

And  man  called  brute  ? 

What  lover  of  her  fame 
Feels  not  his  country's  shame, 

In  this  dark  hour  ? 
Where  are  the  patriots  now, 
Of  honest  heart  and  brow, 
Who  scorn  the  neck  to  bow 

To  Slavery's  power  ? 

Sons  of  the  Free  !  we  call 
On  you,  in  field  and  hall, 

To  rise  as  one  ; 

Your  heaven-born  rights  maintain, 
Nor  let  Oppression's  chain 
On  human  limbs  remain  ; — 

Speak !  and  'tis  done. 

THE   SLAVE'S   LAMENTATION. 

AIR— Long,  long  ago. 

Where  are  the  friends  that  to  me  were  so  dear, 
Long,  long  ago — long  ago  ! 

Where  are  the  hopes  that  my  heart  used  to  cheer, 
Long,  long  ago — long  ago  ! 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY   HARP.  13 

I  am  degraded,  for  man  was  my  foe, 
Friends  that  I  loved  in  the  grave  are  laid  low, 
All  hope  of  freedom  hath  fled  from  me  now, 
Long,  long  ago — long,  long  ago  ! 

Sadly  my  wife  bowed  her  beautiful  head — 

Long,  long  ago — long  ago  ! 
O,  how  I  wept  when  I  found  she  was  dead ! 

Long,  long  ago — long  ago  ! 
She  was  my  angel,  my  love  and  pride — 
Vainly  to  save  her  from  torture  I  tried, 
Poor  broken  heart !  She  rejoiced  as  she  died, 

Long,  long  ago — long,  long  ago  ! 

Let  me  look  back  on  the  days  of  my  youth — 

Long,  long  ago — long  ago  ! 
Master  withheld  from  me  knowledge  and  truth — 

Long,  long  ago — long  ago ! 
Crushed  all  the  hopes  of  my  earliest  day, 
Sent  me  from  father  and  mother  away — 
Forbade  me  to  read,  nor  allowed  me  to  pray — 

Long,  long  ago — long,  long  ago  !  , 


SONG   FOR  THE  TIMES. 

I  hear  the  cry  of  millions,  of  millions,  of  millions, 
I  hear  the  cry  of  millions,  of  millions  in  bonds  ; 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Garrison,  of  Garrison,  of  Garrison, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Garrison,  loud  pleading  for  the  slave  ; 
Oh !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Phillips,  of  Phillips,  of  Phillips, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Phillips,  in  strain  of  eloquence  ; 
Oh !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 
2 


•  14  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Foster,  of  Foster,  of  Foster, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Foster,  against  the  priesthood  ; 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Pillsbury,  of  Pillsbury,  of  Pillsbury, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Pillsbury,  with  all  his  sarcasm  ; 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

1  hear  the  voice  of  Remond,  of  Remond,  of  Remond, 
I  hear  the  voice- of  Remond,  on  prejudice  'gainst  color  ; 
Oh !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Buffum,  of  Buffum,  of  Buffum, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Buffum,  with  a  few  more  facts  ; 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Quincy,  of  Quincy,  of  Quincy, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Quincy,  in  words  of  living  truth, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free,  s.et  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Walker,  of  Walker,  of  Walker, 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Walker,  and  see  his  "  Branded  Hand  ;" 

Oh  !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 

Oh !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  Giddings,  of  Giddings,  of  Giddings, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  Giddings,  in  Congress,  for  the  slave  ; 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains. 

I  hear  the  voice  of  thousands,  of  thousands,  of  thousands, 
I  hear  the  voice  of  thousands,  in  favor  of  "  Disunion  ;" 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free,  set  him  free,  set  him  free, 
Oh  !  set  the  captive  free  from  his  chains, 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  15 


FLIGHT  OF  THE   BONDMAN. 

DEDICATED    TO    WILLIAM    W.    BROWN, 

And  Sung  by  the  Hutckinsons. 

BY    ELIAS    SMITH. 

AIR— Silver  Moon. 

From  the  crack  of  the  rifle  and  baying  of  hound, 

Takes  the  poor  panting  bondman  his  flight ; 
His  couch  through  the  day  is  the  cold  damp  ground, 

But  northward  he  runs  through  the  night. 

Chorus. 
O,  God  speed  the  flight  of  the  desolate  slave, 

Let  his  heart  never  yield  to  despair  ; 
There  is  room  'mong  our  hills  for  the  true  and  the  brave, 

Let  his  lungs  breathe  our  free  northern  air ! 

O,  sweet  to  the  storm-driven  sailor  the  light, 
Streaming  far  o'er  the  dark  swelling  wave  ; 

But  sweeter  by  far  'mong  the  lights  of  the  night, 
Is  the  star  of  the  north  to  the  slave. 
O,  God  speed,  &c. 

Cold  and  bleak  are  our  mountains  and  chilling  our  winds, 

But  warm  as  the  soft  southern  gales 
Be  the  hands  and  the  hearts  which  the  hunted  one  finds, 

'Mong  our  hills  and  our  own  winter  vales. 
O,  God  speed,  &c. 

Then  list  to  the  'plaint  of  the  heart-broken  thrall, 

Ye  blood-hounds,  go  back  to  your  lair ; 
May  a  free  northern  soil  soon  give  freedom  to  o#, 

Who  shall  breathe  in  its  pure  mountain  air. 
O,  God  speed,  &c. 


THE   SWEETS   OF  LIBERTY. 

AIR — Is  there  a  heart,  &c. 

Is  there  a  man  that  never  sighed 

To  set  the  prisoner  free  ? 
Is  there  a  man  that  never  prized 

The  sweets  of  liberty  ? 


16  THE   ANTI-SLAVERY   HARP. 

Then  let  him,  let  him  breathe  unseen, 

Or  in  a  dungeon  live  ; 
Nor  never,  never  know  the  sweets 

That  liberty  can  give. 

Is  there  a  heart  so  cold  in  man, 

Can  galling  fetters  crave  ? 
Is  there  a  wretch  so  truly  low, 

Can  stoop  to  be  a  slave  ? 
O,  let  him,  then,  in  chains  be  bound, 

In  chains  and  bondage  live  ; 
Nor  never,  never  know  the  sweets 

That  liberty  can  give. 

Is  there  a  breast  so  chilled  in  life, 

Can  nurse  the  coward's  sigh  ? 
Is  there  a  creature  so  debased, 

Would  not  for  freedom  die  ? 
O,  let  him  then  be  doomed  to  crawl 

Where  only  reptiles  live  ; 
Nor  never,  never  know  the  sweets 

That  liberty  can  give. 


YE   SPIRITS   OF  THE   FREE  ! 

AIR— My  faith  looks  up  to  thee. 

Ye  spirits  of  the  free, 
Can  ye  forever  see 

Your  brother  man 
A  yoked  and  scourged  slave, 
Chains  dragging  to  his  grave, 
And  raise  no  hand  to  save  ? 

Say  if  you  can. 

In  pride  and  pomp  to  roll, 
Shall  tyrants  from  the  soul 

God's  image  tear, 
And  call  the  wreck  their  own,  — 
While,  from  the  eternal  throne, 
They  shut  the  stifled  groan 

And  bitter  prayer  ? 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  17 

•  '••  r 

Shall  he  a  slave  be  bound, 
Whom  God  hath  doubly  crowned 

Creation's  lord  ? 
Shall  men  of  Christian  name, 
Without  a  blush  of  shame, 
Profess  their  tyrant  claim 

From  God's  own  word  ? 

No  !  at  the  battle  cry, 
A  host  prepared  to  die, 

Shall  arm  for  fight  — 
But  not  with  martial  steel, 
Grasped  with  a  murderous  zeal ; 
No  arms  their  foes  shall  feel, 

But  love  and  light. 

Firm  on  Jehovah's  laws, 
Strong  in  their  righteous  cause, 

Their  march  to  save. 
And  vain  the  tyrant's  mail, 
Against  their  battle-hail, 
Till  cease  the  woe  and  wail 

Of  tortured  slave. 


I   AM   AN   ABOLITIONIST. 

AIR — Auld  Lang  Syne. 

1  am  an  Abolitionist ! 

I  glory  in  the  name  : 
Though  now  by  Slavery's  minions  hiss'd 

And  covered  o'er  with  shame, 
It  is  a  spell  of  light  and  power  — 

The  watchword  of  the  free  :  — 
Who  spurns  it  in  the  trial-hour, 

A  craven  soul  is  he  ! 

I  am  an  Abolitionist! 

Then  urge  me  not  to  pause  ; 
For  joyfully  do  I  enlist 

In  FREEDOM'S  sacred  cause  : 
2* 


18  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

A  nobler  strife  the  world  ne'er  saw, 
Th'  enslaved  to  disenthral ; 

I  am  a  soldier  for  the  war, 
Whatever  may  befall ! 

I  am  an  Abolitionist ! 

Oppression's  deadly  foe  ; 
In  God's  great  strength  will  I  resist, 

And  lay  the  monster  low  ; 
In  God's  great  name  do  I  demand, 

To  all  be  freedom  given, 
That  peace  and  joy  may  fill  the  land, 

And  songs  go  up  to  heaven  ! 

I  am  an  Abolitionist ! 

No  threats  shall  awe  my  soul, 
No  perils  cause  me  to  desist, 

No  bribes  my  acts  control  ; 
A  freeman  will  I  live  and  die, 

In  sunshine  and  in  shade, 
And  raise  my  voice  for  liberty, 

Of  nought  on  earth  afraid. 


THE   BEREAVED   MOTHER. 

AIR— Kathleen  O'More. 

O,  deep  was  the  anguish  of  the  slave  mother's  heart, 
When  called  from  her  darling  forever  to  part ; 
So  grieyed  that  lone  mother,  that  heart-broken  mother, 
In  sorrow  and  woe. 

The  lash  of  the  master  her  deep  sorrows  mock, 
While  the  child  of  her  bosom  is  sold  on  the  block  ; 
Yet  loud  shrieked  that  mother,  poor  heart-broken  mother, 
In  sorrow  and  woe. 

The  babe  in  return,  for  its  fond  mother  cries, 
While  the  sound  of  their  wailings,  together  arise  ; 
They  shriek  for  each  other,  the  child  and  the  mother, 

In  sorrow  and  woe. 


THE  ANTI-SLAVERY   HAfiF,  19 

The  harsh  auctioneer,  to  sympathy  cold, 
Tears  the  babe  from  its  mother  and  sells  it  for  gold  ; 
While  the  infant  and  mother,  loud  shriek  for  each  other, 
In  sorrow  and  woe* 

At  last  came  the  parting  of  mother  and  child, 
Her  brain  reeled  with  madness,  that  mother  was  wild ; 
Then  the  lash  could  not  smother  the  shrieks  of  that  mother1, 
Of  sorrow  and  Woe* 

The  child  was  borne  off  to  a  far  distant  clime, 
While  the  mother  was  left  in  anguish  to  pine  ; 
But  reason  departed,  and  she  sank  broken-hearted, 
In  sorrow  and  woe. 

That  poor  mourning  mother,  of  reason  bereft, 
Soon  ended  her  sorrows  and  sank  cold  in  death  ; 
Thus  died  that  slave  mother,  poor  heart-broken  mother, 
In  sorrow  and  woe. 

O,  list  ye  kind  mothers  to  the  cries  of  the  slave  ; 
The  parents  and  children  implore  you  to  save  ; 
Go  !  rescue  the  mothers,  the  sisters  and  brothers, 
From  sorrow  and  woe. 


I'LL  BE   FREE  !     I'LL  BE   FREE  ! 

AIR—  S\feet  Afton. 

I'll  be  free !  I'll  be  free  !  and  none  shall  confine 
With  fetters  and  chains  this  free  spirit  of  mine  ; 
From  my  youth  have  I  vowed  in  my  God  to  rely, 
And  despite  the  oppressor,  gain  Freedom  or  die. 
Though  my  back  is  all  torn  by  the  merciless  rod, 
Yet  firm  is  my  trust  in  the  right  arm  of  God  ; 
In  his  strength  Pll  go  forth,  and  forever  will  be 
'Mong  the  hills  of  the  North,  where  the  bondman  is  free, 
'Mong  the  hills  of  the  North,  where  the  bondman  is  free. 

Let  me  go  !  let  me  go  !  to  the  land  of  the  brave, 
Where  shackles  must  fall  from  the  limbs  of  the  Slave, 
Where  freedom's  proud  eagle  screams  wild  thro'  the  sky, 
And  the  sweet  mountain-birds  in  glad  notes  reply. 


20  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

I'll  flee  to  New  England,  where  the  fugitive  finds 
A  home  'mid  her  mountains  and  deep  forest  winds, 
And  her  hill-tops  shall  ring  out  the  wrongs  done  to  me, 
Till  responsive  they  sing,  "  Let  the  bondman  go  free." 
Till  responsive  they  sing,  "  Let  the  bondman  go  free." 

New  England  !  New  England  !  thrice  blessed  and  free, 
The  poor  hunted  slave  finds  a  shelter  in  thee, 
Where  no  blood-thirsty  hounds  ever  dare  on  his  track, 
At  thy  stern  voice,  New  England  !  the  monster  fell  back. 
Go  back  !  then,  ye  blood-hounds,  that  howl  in  my  path, 
In  the  land  of  New  England  I'm  free  from  your  wrath, 
And  the  sons  of  the  Pilgrims  my  deep  scars  shall  see, 
Till  they  cry  with  one  voice,  "  Let  the  bondman  go  free." 

That  voice  shall  roll  on,  'mong  the  hills  of  the  North, 
In  murmurs  more  loud  till  its  thunders  break  forth ; 
On  the  wings  of  the  wind  shall  its  deep  echoes  fly, 
Swift  as  lightning  above,  from  sky  e'en  to  sky, 
Nor  charters  nor  unions  its  mandates  shall  check, 
'Twill  cry,  in  God's  name,  "  Go  break  every  yoke,"  — 
Like  the  tempests  of  Heaven,  shaking  mountain  and  sea, 
Shall  the  North  tell  the  South,  "  Let  the  bondman  go  free.' 

Great  God  !  hasten  on  the  glad  jubilee, 
When  my  brother  in  bonds  shall  arise  and  be  free ; 
And  our  blotted  escutcheon  be  washed  from  its  stains, 
Now  the  scorn  of  the  world  —  Three  Millions  in  chains  ! 
O  !  then  shall  Columbia's  proud  flag  be  unfurled, 
The  glory  of  freemen,  and  pride  of  the  world, 
While  earth's  strolling  millions  point  hither  in  glee, 
"  To  the  land  of  the  brave  and  the  home  of  the  free  !  " 


THE   YANKEE   GIRL. 

She  sings  by  her  wheel  at  that  low  cottage  door, 
Which  the  long  evening  shadow  is  stretching  before  ; 
With  a  music  as  sweet  as  the  music  which  seems 
Breathed  softly  and  faintly  in  the  oar  of  our  dreams ! 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY   HARP.  21 

How  brilliant  and  mirthful  the  light  of  her  eye, 
Like  a  star  glancing  out  from  the  blue  of  the  sky ! 
And  lightly  and  freely  her  dark  tresses  play 
O'er  a  brow  and  a  bosom  as  lovely  as  they ! 

Who  comes  in  his  pride  to  that  low  cottage  door  — 
The  haughty  and  rich  to  the  humble  and  poor  ? 
'Tis  the  great  Southern  planter  —  the  master  who  waves 
His  whip  of  dominion  o'er  hundreds  of  slaves. 

"  Nay,  Ellen,  for  shame  !     Let  those  Yankee  fools  spin, 
Who  would  pass  for  our  slaves  with  a  change  of  their  skin  ; 
Let  them  toil  as  they  will  at  the  loom  or  the  wheel, 
Too  stupid  for  shame  and  too  vulgar  to  feel ! 

But  thou  art  too  lovely  and  precious  a  gem 
To  be  bound  to  their  burdens  and  sullied  by  them  — 
For  shame,  Ellen,  shame  !  — cast  thy  bondage  aside, 
And  away  to  the  South,  as  my  blessing  and  pride. 

O,  come  where  no  winter  thy  footsteps  can  wrong, 
But  where  flowers  are  blossoming  all  the  year  long ; 
Where  the  shade  of  the  palm-tree  is  over  my  home, 
And  the  lemon  and  orange  are  white  in  their  bloom ! 

O,  come  to  my  home,  where  my  servants  shall^all 
Depart  at  thy  bidding  and  come  at  thy  call ; 
They  shall  heed  thee  as  mistress  with  trembling  and  awe, 
And  each  wish  of  thy  heart  shall  be  felt  as  a  law."  t 

O,  could  ye  have  seen  her  —  that  pride  of  our  girls  — 
Arise  and  cast  back  the  dark  wealth  of  her  curls, 
With  scorn  in  her  eye  which  the  gazer  could  feel, 
And  a  glance  like  the  sunshine  that  flashes  on  steel : 

"  Go  back,  haughty  Southron  !  thy  treasures  of  gold 
Are  dim  with  the  blood  of  the  hearts  thou  hast  sold  ! 
Thy  home  may  be  lovely,  but  round  it  I  hear 
The  crack  of  the  whip  and  the  footsteps  of  fear  ! 

And  the  sky  of  thy  South  may  be  brighter  than  ours, 
And  greener  thy  landscapes,  and  fairer  thy  flowers  ; 
But,  dearer  the  blast  round  our  mountains  which  raves, 
Than  the  sweet  sunny  zephyr  which  breathes  over  slaves ! 


THE  ANTI-  SLAVERY  HARP. 


Full  low  at  thy  bidding  thy  negroes  may  kneel, 
With  the  iron  of  bondage  on  spirit  and  heel  ; 
Yet  know  that  the  Yankee  girl  sooner  would  be 
In  fetters  with  them,  than  in  freedom  with  tliee  !  " 


FLING   OUT  THE   ANTI-SLAVERY   FLAG. 

AIR— Auld  Lang  Syne. 

Fling  out  the  Anti-slavery  flag 

On  every  swelling  breeze  ; 
And  let  its  folds  wave  o'er  the  land, 

And  o'er  the  raging  seas, 
Till  all  beneath  the  standard  sheet, 

With  new  allegiance  bow; 
And  pledge  themselves  to  onward  bear 

The  emblem  of  their  vow. 

Fling  out  .the  Anti-slavery  flag, 

And  let  it  onward  wave 
Till  it  shall  float  o'er  every  clime, 

And  liberate  the  slave  ; 
Till,  like  a  meteor  flashing  far, 

It  bursts  with  glorious  light, 
And  with  its  Heaven-born  rays  dispels 

The  gloom  of  sorrow's  night. 

Fling  out  the  Anti-slavery  flag, 

And  let  it  not  be  furled, 
Till  like  a  planet  of  the  skies, 

It  sweeps  around  the  world. 
And  when  each  poor  degraded  slave, 

Is  gathered  near  and  far; 
O,  fix  it  on  the  azure  arch, 

As  hope's  eternal  star. 

Fling  out  the  Anti-slavery  flag, 

Forever  let  it  be 
The  emblem  to  a  holy  cause, 

The  banner  of  the  free. 
And  never  from  its  guardian  height, 

Let  it  by  man  be  driven, 
But  let  it  float  forever  there, 

Beneath  the  smiles  of  heaven. 


THE   ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  23 

X" 

From  Tail's  Edinburgh  Magazine. 
JEFFERSON'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  It  is  asserted,  on  the  authority  of  an  American  newspaper,  that  the  daughter 
of  Thomas  Jefferson,  late  President  of  the  United  States,  was  sold  at  New  Or 
leans  for  $1,000."  —  Morning  Chronicle. 

Can  the  blood  that  at  Lexington  poured  o'er  the  plain, 
When  the  sons  warred  with  tyrants  their  rights  to  uphold, 

Can  the  tide  of  Niagara  wipe  out  the  stain  ? 

No  !  Jefferson's  child  has  been  bartered  for  gold  I 

Do  you  boast  of  your  freedom  ?    Peace,  babblers — be  still ; 

Prate  not  of  the  goddess  who  scarce  deigns  to  hear ; 
Have  ye  power  to  unbind  ?     Are  ye  wanting  in  will  ? 

Must  the  groans  of  your  bondman  still  torture  the  ear  ? 

The  daughter  of  Jefferson  sold  for  a  slave  ! 

The  child  of  a  freeman  for  dollars  and  francs ! 
The  roar  of  applause,  when  your  orators  rave, 

Is  lost  in  the  sound  of  her  chain,  as  it  clanks. 

Peace,  then,  ye  blasphemers  of  Liberty's  name  ! 

Though  red  was  the  blood  by  your  forefathers  spilt, 
Still  redder  your  cheeks  should  be  mantled  with  shame, 

Till  the  spirit  of  freedom  shall  cancel  the  guilt. 

But  the  brand  of  the  slave  is  the  tint  of  his  skin, 

Though  his  heart  may  beat  loyal  and  true  underneath  ; 

While  the  soul  of  the  tyrant  is  rotten  within, 

And  his  white  the  mere  cloak  to  the  blackness  of  death. 

Are  ye  deaf  to  the  plaints  that  each  moment  arise  ? 

Is  it  thus  ye  forget  the  mild  precepts  of  Penn,  — 
Unheeding  the  clamor  that  "  maddens  the  skies," 

As  ye  trample  the  rights  of  your  dark  fellow- men  ? 

When  the  incense  that  glows  before  Liberty's  shrine, 

Is  unmixed  with  the  blood  of  the  galled  and  oppressed,— 

O,  then,  and  then  only,  the  boast  may  be  thine, 

That  the  stripes  and  stars  wave  o'er  a  land  of  the  blest. 


24  THE   ANTI-SLAVERY   HARP. 

THE   SLAVE   AUCTION  — A  FACT. 

AIR— Good  bye. 

Why  stands  she  near  the  auction  stand  ? 

That  girl  so  young  and  fair ; 
What  brings  her  to  this  dismal  place, 

Why  stands  she  weeping  there  ? 

Why  does  she  raise  that  bitter  cry  ? 

Why  hangs  her  head  with  shame, 
As  now  the  auctioneer's  rough  voice 

So  rudely  calls  her  name  ? 

But  see  !  she  grasps  a  manly  hand, 

And  in  a  voice  so  low, 
As  scarcely  to  be  heard,  she  says, 

"  My  brother,  must  I  go  ? " 

A  moments  pause  :  then  midst  a  wail 


Of  agonizing  woe, 
[is  answer  falls 


His  answer  falls  upon  the  ear, 
"  Yes,  sister,  you  must  go  ! 

No  longer  can  my  arm  defend, 

No  longer  can  I  save 
My  sister  from  the  horrid  fate 

That  waits  her  as  a  SLAVE  !  " 

Ah !  now  I  know  why  she  is  there,  — 

She  came  there  to  be  sold  ! 
That  lovely  form,  that  noble  mind, 

Must  be  exchanged  for  gold  ! 

O  God  !  my  every  heart-string  cries, 
Dost  thou  these  scenes  behold 

In  this  our  boasted  Christian  land, 
And  must  the  truth  be  told  ? 

Blush,  Christian,  blush  !  for  e'eri  the  dark 

Untutored  hsathen  see 
Thy  inconsistency,  and  lo  ! 

They  scorn  thy  God,  and  thee ! 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HAHP. 

GET   OFF   THE   TRACK. 

AIR— Dan  Tucker. 

Ho  !  the  car  Emancipation 
Rides  majestic  thro'  our  nation, 
Bearing  on  its  train  the  story, 
Liberty  !  a  nation's  glory. 

Roll  it  along,  thro'  the  nation, 
Freedom's  car,  Emancipation ! 

First  of  all  the  train  and  greater, 

Speeds  the  dauntless  Liberator, 

Onward  cheered  amid  hosannas, 

And  the  waving  of  free  banners. 

Roll  it  along  !  spread  your  banners, 
While  the  people  shout  hosannas. 

Men  of  various  predilections, 
Frightened,  run  in  all  directions  ; 
Merchants,  editors,  physicians, 
Lawyers,  priests,  and  politicians. 

Get  out  of  the  way  !  every  station  ! 

Clear  the  track  of  'mancipation  ! 

Let  the  ministers  and  churches, 
Leave  behind  sectarian  lurches  ; 
Jump  on  board  the  car  of  Freedom, 
Ere  it  be  too  late  to  need  them. 

Sound  the  alarm  !     Pulpits  thunder  ! 
'Ere  too  late  you   see  your  blunder ! 

Politicians  gazed,  astounded, 

When,  at  first,  our  bell  resounded  ; 

Freight  trains  are  coming,  tell  these  foxes, 

With  our  votes  and  ballot  boxes. 

Jump  for  your  lives  !  politicians, 
From  your  dangerous,  false  positions. 

All  true  friends  of  Emancipation, 
Haste  to  freedom's  railroad  station  ; 
Quick  into  the  cars  get  seated, 
All  is  ready  and  completed. 

Put  on  the  steam !  all  are  crying, 

And  the  liberty-flags  are  flying. 

3 


26  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

Now  again  the  bell  is  tolling, 

Soon  you'll  see  the  car-wheels  rolling ; 

Hinder  not  their  destination, 

Chartered  for  Emancipation. 

Wood  up  the  fire !  keep  it  flashing, 
While  the  train  goes  onward  dashing. 

Hear  the  mighty  car- wheels  humming ! 

Now  look  out !  the  Engine's  coming  ! 

Church  and  statesmen  !  hear  the  thunder  ! 

Clear  the  track  or  you'll  fall  under. 
Get  off  the  track  !  all  are  singing, 
While  the  Liberty  bell  is  ringing. 

On,  triumphant  see  them  bearing, 
Through  sectarian  rubbish  tearing  ; 
The  bell  and  whistle  and  the  steaming, 
Startle  thousands  from  their  dreaming. 

Look  out  for  the  cars  while  the  bell  rings 
Ere  the  sound  your  funeral  knell  rings. 

See  the  people  run  to  meet  us ; 

At  the  depots  thousands  greet  us  ; 

All  take  seats  with  exultation, 

In  the  Car  Emancipation. 

Huzza  !  Huzza  ! !  Emancipation 
Soon  will  bless  our  happy  nation, 
Huzza  !  Huzza  !  Huzza  !  !  ! 


BE   FREE,  O   MAN,  BE   FREE. 

The  storm-winds  wildly  blowing, 

The  bursting  billows  mock, 
As  with  their  foam-crests  glowing, 

They  dash  the  sea-girt  rock  ; 
Amid  the  wild  commotion, 

The  revel  of  the  sea, 
A  voice  is  on  the  ocean, 

Be  free,  O  man,  be  free. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  27 

Behold  the  sea-brine  leaping 

High  in  the  murky  air  ; 
List  to  the  tempest  sweeping 

In  chainless  fury  there. 
What  moves  the  mighty  torrent, 

And  bids  it  flow  abroad  ? 
Or  turns  the  rapid  current  ? 

What,  but  the  voice  of  God  ? 

Then,  answer,  is  the  spirit 

Less  noble  or  less  free  ? 
From  whom  does  it  inherit 

The  doom  of  slavery  ? 
When  man  can  bind  the  waters, 

That  they  no  longer  roll, 
Then  let  him  forge  the  fetters 

To  clog  the  human  soul. 

Till  then  a  voice  is  stealing 

From  earth  and  sea  and  sky, 
And  to  the  soul  revealing 

Its  immortality. 
The  swift  wind  chants  the  numbers 

Careering  o'er  the  sea, 
And  earth,  aroused  from  slumbers, 

Re-echoes,  "  Man  be  free." 


THE  FUGITIVE  SLAVE  TO  THE   CHRISTIAN. 

The  fetters  galled  my  weary  soul  — 
A  soul  that  seemed  but  thrown  away  ; 

1  spurned  the  tyrant's  base  control, 
Resolved  at  last  the  man  to  play  : — 

The  hounds  are  baying  on  my  track ; 
O  Christian  !  will  you  send  me  back  ? 

I  felt  the  stripes,  the  lash  I  saw, 
Red,  dripping  with  a  father's  gore  ; 

And  worst  of  all  their  lawless  law, 

The  insults  that  my  mother  bore  ! 
.    The  hounds  are  baying  on  my  track, 
O  Christian !  will  you  send  me  back  ? 


28  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

Where  human  law  o'errules  Divine, 
Beneath  the  sheriff's  hammer  fell 
My  wife  and  babes, —  I  call  them  mine,  — 
And  where  they  suffer,  who  can  tell  ? 
The  hounds  are  baying  on  my  track, 
O  Christian  !  will  you  send  me  back  ? 

I  seek  a  home  where  man  is  man, 
If  such  there  be  upon  this  earth, 
To  draw  my  kindred,  if  I  can, 

Around  its  free,  though  humble  hearth. 
The  hounds  are  baying  on  my  track, 
O  Christian  !  will  you  send  me  back  ? 


RESCUE  THE   SLAVE. 

AIR— The  Troubadour. 

This  song  was  composed  while  George  Latimer,  the  fugitive  slave,  was  con 
fined  in  Leverett  Street  Jail,  Boston,  expecting  to  be  carried  back  to  Virginia  by 
James  B.  Gray,  his  claimant. 

Sadly  the  fugitive  weeps  in  his  cell, 
Listen  awhile  to  the  story  we  tell ; 
Listen  ye  gentle  ones,  listen  ye  brave, 
Lady  fair!  Lady  fair  !  weep  for  the  slave. 

Praying  for  liberty,  dearer  than  life, 

Torn  from  his  little  one,  torn  from  his  wife, 

Flying  from  slavery,  hear  him  and  save, 

Christian  men  !  Christian  men  !  help  the  poor  slave. 

Think  of  his  agony,  feel  for  his  pain, 

Should  his  hard  master  e'er  hold  him  again  ; 

Spirit  of  liberty,  rise  from  your  grave, 

Make  him  free,  make  him  free,  rescue  the  slave. 

Freely  the  slave- master  goes  where  he  will ; 
Freemen,  stand  ready,  his  wish  to  fulfil, 
Helping  the  tyrant,  or  honest  or  knave,  " 
Thinking  not,  caring  not,  for  the  poor  slave. 

Talk  not  of  liberty,  liberty's  dead  ; 
See  the  slave-master's  whip  over  our  head  ; 
Stooping  beneath  it,  we  ask  what  he  craves, 
Boston  boys  1  Boston  boys  I  catch  me  my  slaves. 


• 

THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  29 


Freemen,  arouse  ye,  before  it's  too  late  ; 
Slavery  is  knocking  at  every  gate, 
Make  good  the  promise,  your  early  days  gave, 
Boston  boys  !  Boston  boys  !  rescue  the  slave. 


SONG   OF  THE   COFFLE    GANG. 

This  song  is  said  to  be  sung  by  Slaves,  as  they  are  chained  in  gangs,  when 
parting  from  friends  for  the  far-off  South  —  children  taken  front  parents,  hus 
bands  from  wives,  and  brothers  from  sisters. 

See  these  poor  souls  from   Africa, 

Transported  to  America  : 

We  are  stolen  and  sold  to  Georgia,  will  you  go  along  with  me? 
We  are  stolen  and  sold  to  Georgia,  go  sound  the  jubilee. 

See  wives  and  husbands  sold  apart, 

The  children's  screams  ! — it  breaks  my  heart ; 

There's  a  better  day  a  coming,  will  you  go  along  with  me  ? 

There's  a  better  day  a  coming,  go  sound  the  jubilee. 

O,  gracious  Lord  !  when  shall  it  be, 

That  we  poor  souls  shall  all  be  free  ? 
Lord,  break  them  Slavery  powers — will  you  go  along   with 

me  ? 
Lord,  break  them  Slavery  powers,  go  sound  the  jubilee. 

Dear  Lord  !  dear  Lord  !  when  Slavery'll  cease, 
Then  we  poor  souls  can  have  our  peace  ; 

There's  a  better  day  a  coming,  will  you  go  along  with  me  ? 

There's  a  better  day  a  coming,  go  sound  the  jubilee. 

YE    HERALDS   OF  FREEDOM. 

Ye  heralds  of  freedom,  ye  noble  and  brave, 
Who  dare  to  insist  on  the  rights  of  the  slave, 
Go  onward,  go  onward,  your  cause  is  of  God, 
And  he  will  soon  sever  the  oppressor's  strong  rod. 

The  finger  of  slander  may  now  at  you  point, 
That  finger  will  soon  lose  the  strength  of  its  joint ; 
And  those  who  now  plead  for  t]ie  rights  of  the  slave, 
Will  soon  be  acknowledged  the  good  and  the  brave. 
3* 


SO  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

" 

Though  thrones  and  dominions,  and  kingdoms  and  powers, 

May  now  all  oppose  you,  the  victory  is  yours  ; 

The  banner  of  Jesus  will  soon  be  unfurled, 

And  he  will  give  freedom  and  peace  to  the  world. 

Go  under  his  standard,  and  fight  by  his  side, 

O'er  mountains  and  billows  you'll  then  safely  ride  ; 

His  gracious  protection  will  be  to  you  given, 

And  bright  crowns  of  glory  he'll  give  you  in  heaven. 


LAMENT  OF  THE   FUGITIVE   SLAVE. 

"My  child,  we  must  soon  part  to  meet  no  more  this  side  of  the  grave.  You 
have  ever  said  that  you  would  not  die  a  slave ;  that  you  would  be  a  freeman. 
Now  try  to  get  your  liberty  ! 5> —  W.  W.  BROWN'S  NARRATIVE. 

I've  wandered  out  beneath  the  moon-lit  heaven, 

Lost  mother  !  loved  and  dear, 
To  every  beam  a  magic  power  seems  given 

To  bring  thy  spirit  near  ; 

For  though  the  breeze  of  freedom  fans  my  brow, 
My  soul  still  turns  to  thee  !  oh,  where  art  thou  ? 

Where  art  thou,  mother  ?  I  am  weary  thinking  ; 

A  heritage  of  pain  and  woe 
Was  thine, — beneath  it  art  thou  slowly  sinking, 

Or  hast  thou  perished  long  ago  ? 

And  doth  thy  spirit  'mid  the  quivering  leaves  above  me, 
Hover,  dear  mother,  near,  to  guard  and  love  me  ? 

I  murmur  at  my  lot ;  in  the  white  man's  dwelling 

The  mother  there  is  found  ; 
Or  he  may  tell  where  spring  buds  first  are  swelling 

Above  her  lowly  mound  ; 
But  thou, — lost  mother,  every  trace  of  thee 
In  the  vast  sepulchre  of  Slavery  ! 

Long  years  have  fled,  since  sad,  faint-hearted, 

I  stood  on  Freedom's  shore, 
And  knew,  dear  mother,  from  thee  I  was  parted 

To  meet  thee  never  more  ; 

And  deemed  the  tyrant's  chain  with  thee  were  better 
Than  stranger  hearts  and  limbs  without  a  fetter. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  31 

Yet  blessings  on  thy  Roman- mother  spirit ; 

Could  I  forget  it,  then, 
The  parting  scene,  and  struggle  not  to  inherit 

A  freeman's  birth-right  once  again  ? 
O  no'ble  words  !  O  holy  love  which  gave 
Thee  strength  to  utter  them,  a  poor,  heart-broken  slave  ! 

Be  near  me,  mother,  be  thy  spirit  near  me, 

Wherever  thou  may'st  be, 
In  hours  like  this  bend  near  that  I  may  hear  thee, 

And  know  that  thou  art  free  ; 
Summoned  at  length  from  bondage,  toil  and  pain, 
To  God's  free  world,  a  world  without  a  chain  ! 


WE'RE   COMING,  WE'RE  COMING. 

AIR— Kinloeh  of  Kinloeh- 

We're  coming,  we're  coming,  the  fearless  and  free, 
Like  the  winds  of  the  desert,  the  waves  of  the  sea  1 
True  sons  of  brave  sires  who  battled  of  yore, 
When  England's  proud  lion  ran  wild  on  our  shore  ! 
We're  coming,  we're  coming,  from  mountain  and  glen, 
With  hearts  to  do  battle  for  freedom  again ; 
Oppression  is  trembling  as  trembled  before 
The  slavery  which  fled  from  our  fathers  of  yore. 

We're  coming,  we're  coming,  with  banners  unfurled, 
Our  motto  is  FREEDOM,  our  country  the  world  ; 
Our  watchword  is  LIBERTY — tyrants  beware  ! 
For  the  liberty  army  will  bring  your  despair ! 
We're  coming,  we're  coming,  we'll  come  from  afar, 
Our  standard  we'll  nail  to  humanity's  car ; 
With  shoutings  we'll  raise  it,  in  triumph  to  wave, 
A  trophy  of  conquest,  or  shroud  for  the  brave. 

Then  arouse  ye,  brave  hearts,  to  the  rescue  come  on  ! 
The  man-stealing  army  we'll  surely  put  down  ; 
They  are  crushing  their  millions,  but  soon  they  must  yield, 
For  freemen  have  risen  and  taken  the  field. 


32  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

Then  arouse  ye  !  arouse  ye  !  the  fearless  and  free, 
Like  the  winds  of  the  desert,  the  waves  of  the  sea  ; 
Let  the  north,  west  and  east  to  the  sea-beaten  shore, 
Resound  with  a  Liberty  triumph  once  more. 


ON   TO   VICTORY. 

AIR — Scots  wha  hae. 

Children  of  the  glorious  dead, 
Who  for  freedom  fought  and  bled, 
With  her  banner  o'er  you  spread, 

On,  to  victory. 

Not  for  stern  ambition's  prize, 
Do  our  hopes  and  wishes  rise  ; 
Lo,  our  leader  from  the  skies, 

Bids  us  do  or  die. 

Ours  is  not  the  tented  field  — 
We  no  earthly  weapons  wield, 
Light  and  love  our  sword  and  shield, 

Truth  our  panoply. 
This  is  proud  oppression's  hour  ; 
Storms  are  round  us  ;  shall  we  cower  ? 
While  beneath  a  despot's  power 

Groans  the  suffering  slave  ? 

While  on  every  southern  gale, 
Comes  the  helpless  captive's  tale, 
And  the  voice  of  woman's  wail, 

And  of  man's  despair  ! 
While  our  homes  and  rights  are  dear, 
Guarded  still  with  watchful  fear, 
Shall  we  coldly  turn  our  ear 

From  the  suppliant's  prayer  ! 

Never  !  by  our  Country's  shame  — 
Never  !  by  a  Saviour's  claim, 
To  the  men  of  every  name, 

Whom  he  died  to  save. 
Onward,  then,  ye  fearless  band  — 
Heart  to  heart,  and  hand  to  hand  ; 
Yours  shall  be  the  patriot's  stand  — 

Or  the  martyr's  grave. 


THE    ANTI- SLAVERY    HARP.  33 


FUGITIVE'S   TRIUMPH. 

Go,  go,  thou  that  enslav'st  me, 
Now,  now,  thy  power  is  o'er  ; 

Long,  long$  have  I  obeyed  thee, 

I'm  not  a  slave  any  more  ; 

No,  no — oh,  no  ! 

I'm  a  free  man  ever  more ! 

Thou,  thou,  broughtest  me  ever, 
Deep,  deep,  sorrow  and  pain  ; 

But  I  have  left  thee  forever, 
Nor  will  I  serve  thee  again  ; 
No.  no — oh,  no ! 

No,  I'll  not  serve  thee  again. 

Tyrant !  thou  hast  bereft  me 

Home,  friends,  pleasures  so  sweet ; 

Now,  forever  I've  left  thee, 
Thou  and  I  never  shall  meet ; 
No,  no — oh,  no  ! 

Thou  and  I  never  shall  meet. 

Joys,  joys,  bright  as  the  morning, 
Now,  now,  on  me  will  pour, 

Hope,  hope,  on  me  is  dawning, 

Tm  not  a  slave  any  more  ! 

No,  no — oh,  no  ! 

I'm  a  FREE  MAN  evermore  ! 


THE   BONDMAN. 

AIR — Troubadour, 

Feebly  the  bondman  toiled, 

Sadly  he  wept  — 
Then  to  his  wretched  cot 

Mournfully  crept ; 
How  doth  his  free-born  soul 

Pine  'neath  his  chain  ! 
Slavery  !  Slavery ! 

Dark  is  thy  reign. 


34  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

Long  ere  the  break  of  day, 

Roused  from  repose, 
Wearily  toiling 

Till  after  its  close  — 
Praying  for  freedom, 

He  spends  his  last  breath : 
Liberty  ! '  Liberty  ! 

Give  me  or  death. 

When,  when,  O  Lord  !  will  right 

Triumph  o'er  wrong  ? 
Tyrants  oppress  the  weak, 

O  Lord  !  how  long  ? 
Hark  !  hark  !  a  peal  resounds 

From  shore  to  shore — 
Tyranny !  Tyranny ! 

Thy  reign  is  9'er. 

E'en  now  the  morning 

Gleams  from  the  East  — 
Despots  are  feeling 

Their  triumph  is  past — 
Strong  hearts  are  answering 

To  freedom's  loud  call  — 
Liberty  !  Liberty  ! 

Full  and  for  all. 


RIGHT  ON. 

AIR— Lenox. 

Ho !  children  of  the  brave, 

Ho  !  freemen  of  the  land, 
That  hurled  into  the  grave 

Oppression's  bloody  band  ; 
Come  on,  come  on,  and  joined  be  we, 
To  make  the  fettered  bondman  free. 

Let  coward  vassals  sneak 

From  freedom's  battle  stilH 
Poltroons  that  dare  not  speak 

But  as  their  priests  may  will  ; 
Come  on,  come  on,  and  joined  be  we, 
To  make  the  fettered  bondman  free. 


THE  ANTI- SLAVERY  HARP.  35 

On  parchment,  scroll  and  creed, 

With  human  life-blood  red, 
Untrembling  at  the  deed, 

Plant  firm  your  manly  tread  ; 
The  priest  may  howl,  the  jurist  rave, 
But  we  will  free  the  fettered  slave. 

The  tyrant's  scorn  is  vain, 

In  vain  the  slanderer's  breath, 
We'll  rush  to  break  the  chain, 

E'en  on  the  jaws  of  death  ; 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  right  on  go  we, 
The  fettered  slave  shall  yet  be  free. 

Right  on,  in  freedom's  name, 

And  in  the  strength  of  God, 
Wipe  out  the  damning  stain, 

Arid  break  the  oppressor's  rod  ; 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  right  on  go  we, 
The  fettered  slave  shall  yet  be  free. 


THE   MAN   FOR   ME. 

AIR— The  Rose  that  all  are  praising. 

O,  he  is  not  the  man  for  me, 

Who  buys  or  sells  a  slave, 
Nor  he  who  will  not  set  him  free, 

But  sends  him  to  his  grave  ; 
But  he  whose  noble  heart  beats  warm 

For  all  men's  life  and  liberty  ; 
Who  loves  alike  each  human  form, 

O,  that's  the  man  for  me. 

He's  not  at  all  the  man  for  me, 

Who  sells  a  man  for  gain, 
Who  bends  the  pliant,  servile  knee, 

To  Slavery's  god  of  shame  ! 
But  he  whose  God-like  form  erect 

Proclaims  that  all  alike  are  free 
To  think,  and  speak,  and  vote,  and  act, 

O,  that's  the  man  for  me. 


36  THE   ANTI-SLAVERY   HARP. 

He  sure  is  not  the  man  for  me 

Whose  spirit  will  succumb, 
When  men  endowed  with  Liberty 

Lie  bleeding,  bound  and  dumb  ; 
But  he  whose  faithful  words  of  might 

Ring  through  the  land  from  shore  to  sea, 
For  man's  eternal  equal  right, 

O,  that's  the  man  for  me. 

No,  no,  he's  not  the  man  for  me, 

Whose  voice  o'er  hill  and  plain 
Breaks  forth  for  glorious  liberty, 

But  binds  himself  the  chain ! 
The  mightiest  of  the  noble  band, 

Who  prays  and  toils  the  world  to  free, 
With  head,  and  heart,  and  voice,  and  vote, 

O,  that's  the  man  for  me. 


A   SONG   FOR   FREEDOM. 

AIR — Dandy  Jim. 

Come  all  ye  bondmen  far  and  near, 
Let's  put  a  song  in  massa's  ear, 
It  is  a  song  for  our  poor  race, 
Who're  whipped  and  trampled  with  disgrace. 
Chorus.     My  old  massa  tells  me  O 

This  is  a*  land  of  freedom  O  ; 

Let's  look  about  and  see  if  'tis  so, 

Just  as  massa  tells  me  O. 

He  tells  us  of  that  glorious  one, 
I  think  his  name  was  Washington, 
How  he  did  fight  for  liberty, 
To  save  a  threepence  tax  on  tea. 
Chorus.     My  old  massa,  &c. 

And  then  he  tells  us  that  there  was 
A  Constitution  with  this  clause, 
That  all  men  equal  were  created, 
How  often  have  we  heard  it  stated. 
Chorus.     My  old  massa,  &c. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  37 

But  now  we  look  about  and  see, 
That  we  poor  blacks  are  not  so  free  ; 
We're  whipped  and  thrashed  about  like  fools, 
And  have  no  chance  at  common  schools. 
Chorus.     Still,  my  old  massa,  &c. 

They  take  our  wives,  insult  and  mock, 
And  sell  our  children  on  the  block, 
Then  choke  us  if  we  say  a  word, 
And  say  that  "  niggers  "  shan't  be  heard. 
Chorus.     My  old  massa,  &c. 

Our  preachers,  too,  with  whip  and  cord, 
Command  obedience  in  the  Lord  ; 
They  say  they  learn  it  from  the  book, 
But  for  ourselves  we  dare  not  look. 

Chorus.     Still,  my  old  massa  tells  me  O, 

This  is  a  Christian  country  O,  &c. 

There  is  a  country  far  away, 

Friend  Hopper  says  'tis  Canada, 

And  if  we  reach  Victoria's  shore, 

He  says  that  we  are  slaves  no  more. 

Chorus.     Now  hasten  all  bondmen,  let  us  go 
And  leave  this  Christian  country  O  ; 
Haste  to  the  land  of  the  British  Queen, 
Where  whips  for  negroes  are  not  seen. 

Now  if  we  go,  we  must  take  the  night  — 

We're  sure  to  die  if  we  come  in  sight, 

The  bloodhounds  will  be  on  our  track, 

And  wo  to  us  if  they  fetch  us  back. 

Chorus.     Now  haste  all  bondmen,  let  us  go, 

And  leave  this  Christian  country  O  ; 
God  help  us  to  Victoria's  shore, 
Where  we  are  free  and  slaves  no  more. 


38  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY   HARP. 

THE   SLAVE'S   SONG. 

AIR— Dearest  Maie. 

Now,  freemen,  listen  to  my  song,  a  story  I'll  relate, 
It  happened  in  the  valley  of  the  old  Carolina  State  : 
They  marched  me  to  the  cotton  field,  at  early  break  of  day, 
And  worked  me  there  till  late  sunset,  without  a  cent  of  pay. 
Chorus.     They  worked  me  all  the  day, 

Without  a  bit  of  pay, 

And  believed  me  when  I  told  them 

That  I  would  not  run  away. 

Massa  gave  me  a  holiday,  and  said  he'd  give  me  more, 

I  thanked  him  very  kindly,  and  shoved  my  boat  from  shore  ; 

I  drifted  down  the  river,  my  heart  was  light  and  free, 

I  had  my  eye  on  the  bright  north  star,  and  thought  of  liberty. 

They  worked  me  all  the  day, 

Without  a  bit  of  pay, 

So  I  took  my  flight  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 

When  the  sun  was  gone  away. 

I  jumped  out  of  my  good  old  boat  and  shoved  it  from  the  shore, 
And  travelled  faster  that  night  than  1  had  ever  done  before  ; 
I  came  up  to  a  farmer's  house,  just  at  the  break  of  day, 
And  saw  a  white  man  standing  there,  said  he,  "  You  are  run 
away." 

They  worked  me  all  the  day, 

Without  a  bit  of  pay, 

So  I  took  my  flight  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 

When  the  sun  was  gone  away. 

I  told  him  I  had  left  the  whip,  and  baying  of  the  hound, 
To  find  a  place  where  man  was  man,  if  such  there  could  be 

found, 

That  I  heard  in  Canada,  all  mankind  were  free, 
And  that  I  was  going  there  in  search  of  liberty. 

They  worked  me  all  the  day, 

Without  a  bit  of  pay, 

So  I  took  rny  flight  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 

When  the  sun  was  gone  away. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  39 


THERE'S   A   GOOD   TIME   COMING. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  ; 
There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys,. 

Wait  a  little  longer. 
We  may  not  live  to  see  the  day, 
But  earth  shall  glisten  in  the  ray 

Of  the  good  time  coming  ; 
Cannon  balls  may  aid  the  truth, 

But  thought's  a  weapon  stronger ; 
We'll  win  our  battle  by  its  aid, 

Wait  a  little  longer. 

O,  there's  a  good  time,  &c. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  ; 
The  pen  shall  supersede  the  sword, 
And  right  not  might  shall  be  the  lord, 

In  the  good  time  corning. 
Worth,  not  birth  shall  rule  mankind, 

And  be  acknowledged  stronger, 
The  proper  impulse  has  been  given, 

Wait  a  longer. 

O,  there's  a  good  time,  &c. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  ; 
Hateful  rivalries  of  creed, 
Shall  not  make  their  martyrs  bleed, 

In  the  good  time  coming. 
Religion  shall  be  shorn  of  pride, 

And  flourish  all  the  stronger  ; 
And  Charity  shall  trim  her  lamp, 

Wait  a  little  longer. 

O,  there's  a  good  time,  &c. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  ; 
War  in  all  men's  eyes  shall  be 
A  monster  of  iniquity, 

In  the  good  time  coming. 


40  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

Nations  shall  not  quarrel  then, 

To  prove  which  is  the  stronger  ; 

Nor  slaughter  men  for  glory's  sake, 
Wait  a  little  longer. 
O,  there's  a  good  time,  &c. 


THE   BIGOT   FIRE. 

Written  on  the  occasion  of  George  Latimer's  imprisonment  in  Leverett  slrcet 
Jail,  Boston. 

O  kindle  not  that  bigot  fire, 

'Twill  bring  disunion,  fear  and  pain  ; 

'Twill  rouse  at  last  the  souther's  ire, 
And  burst  our  starry  land  in  twain. 

Theirs  is  the  high,  the  noble  worth, 

The  very  soul  of  chivalry  ; 
Rend  not  our  blood-bought  land  apart, 

For  such  a  thing  as  slavery. 

This  is  the  language  of  the  North, 

I  shame  to  say  it,  but  'tis  true  ; 
And  anti-slavery  calls  it  forth, 

From  some  proud  priests  and  laymen  too. 

What !  bend  forsooth  to  southern  rule  ? 

What !  cringe  and  crawl  to  souther's  clay, 
And  be  the  base,  the  supple  tool, 

Of  hell-begotten  slavery  ? 

No  !    Never,  while  the  free  air  plays 

O'er  our  rough  hills  and  sunny  fountains, 

Shall  proud  New  England's  sons  be/ree, 

And  clank  their  fetters  round  her  mountains. 

Go  if  ye  will  arid  grind  in  dust, 

Dark  Afric's  poor,  degraded  child  ; 

Wring  from  his  sinews  gold  accursed, 
And  boast  your  gospel  warm  and  mild, 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

While  on  our  mountain  tops  the  pine 
In  freedom  her  green  branches  wave, 

Her  sons  shall  never  stoop  to  bind 
The  galling  shackle  of  the  slave. 

Ye  dare  demand  with  haughty  tone 
For  us  to  pander  to  your  shame, 

To  give  our  brother  up  alone, 

To  feel  the  lash  and  wear  the  chain. 

Our  brother  never  shall  go  back, 

When  once  he  presses  our  free  shore  ; 

Though  souther's  power  with  hell  to  back, 
Comes  thundering  at  our  northern  door. 

No  !  rather  be  our  starry  land 
Into  a  thousand  fragments  riven  ; 

Upon  our  own  free  hills  we'll  stand, 
And  pour  upon  the  breeze  of  heaven, 

A  curse  so  loud,  so  stern,  so  deep, 

Shall  start  ye  in  your  guilty  slesp. 


41 


OFT   IN   THE    CHILLY   NIGHT. 

Oft  in  the  chilly  night, 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
When  all  her  silvery  light 

The  moon  is  pouring  round  me, 
Beneath  its  ray  I  kneel  and  pray, 

That  God  would  give  some  token 
That  slavery's  chains  on  Southern  plains, 

Shall  all  ere  long  be  broken  ; 
Yes,  in  the  chilly  night, 

Though  slavery's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Kneel  I,  and  feel  the  might 

Of  God's  right  arm  around^ne. 

When  at  the  driver's  call, 

In  cold  or  sultry  weather, 
We  slaves,  both  great  and  small, 

Turn  out  to  toil  together, 

4* 


42  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

I  feel  like  one  from  whom  the  sun 

Of  hope  has  long  departed  ; 
And  morning's  light,  and  weary  night, 

Still  find  me  broken-hearted  ; 
Thus,  when  the  chilly  breath 

Of  night  is  sighing  round  me, 
Kneel  I,  and  wish  that  death 

In  his  cold  chain  had  bound  me. 


ARE   YE   TRULY   FREE? 

AIR— Martyn. 

Men  !  whose  boast  it  is  that  ye 
Corne  of  fathers  brave  and  free  ; 
If  there  breathe  on  earth  a  slave, 
Are  ye  truly  free  and  brave  ? 
Are  ye  not  base  slaves  indeed, 
Men  unworthy  to  be  freed, 
If  ye  do  not  feel  the  chain, 
When  it  works  a  brother's  pain  ? 

Women  !  who  shall  one  day  bear 
Sons  to  breathe  God's  bounteous  air, 
If  ye  hear  without  a  blush, 
Deeds  to  make  the  roused  blood  rush 
Like  red  lava  through  your  veins, 
For  your  sisters  now  in  chains  ; 
Answer  !  are  ye  fit  to  be 
Mothers  of  the  brave  and  free  ? 

Is  true  freedom  but  to  break 
Fetters  for  our  own  dear  sake, 
And,  with  leathern  hearts  forget 
That  we  owe  mankind  a  debt  ? 
No  !  true  freedom  is  to  share 
All  the  chains  our  brothers  wear, 
And  with  hand  and  heart  to  be 
Earnest  to  make  others  free. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

They  are  slaves  who  fear  to  speak 

For  the  fallen  and  the  weak  ; 

They  are  slaves,  who  will  not  choose 

Hatred,  scoffing,  and  abuse, 

Rather  than,  in  silence,  shrink 

From  the  truth  they  needs  must  think  ; 

They  are  slaves,  who  dare  not  be 

In  the  right  with  two  or  three. 


43 


COME   JOIN   THE   ABOLITIONISTS. 

AIR— When  I  can  read  my  title  clear. 

Come  join  the  Abolitionists, 

Ye  young  men  bold  and  strong, 
And  with  a  warm  and  cheerful  zeal, 

Come  help  the  cause  along  ; 
O  that  will  be  joyful,  joyful,  joyful, 
O  that  will  be  joyful,  when  Slavery  is  no  more, 
When  Slavery  is  no  more. 

'Tis  then  we'll  sing,  and  offerings  bring, 
When  Slavery  is  no  more. 

Come  join  the  Abolitionists, 

Ye  men  of  riper  years, 
And  save  your  wives  and  children  dear, 

From  grief  and  bitter  tears  ; 
O  that  will  be  joyful,  joyful,  joyful, 
O  that  will  be  joyful,  when  Slavery  is  no  more, 
When  Slavery  is  no  more, 

'Tis  then  we'll  sin%,  and  offerings  bring, 
When  Slavery  is  no  more. 

Come  join  the  Abolitionists, 

Ye  dames  and  maidens  fair,  .     . 

And  breathe  around  us  in  our  path 

Affection's  hallowed  air ; 
O  that  will  be  joyful,  joyful,  joyful, 
O  that  will  be  joyful,  when  woman  cheers  us  on, 
When  woman  cheers  us  on,  to  conquests  not  yet  won. 
'Tis  then  we'll  sing,  and  offerings  bring, 
When  woman  cheers  us  on. 


44  THE   ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

Come  join  the  Abolitionists, 

Ye  sons  and  daughters  all, 
Of  this  our  own  America — 

Come  at  the  friendly  call  ; 
O  that  will  be  joyful,  joyful,  joyful, 
O  that  will  be  joyful,  when  all  shall  proudly  say, 
This,  this  is  Freedom's  day  — Oppression  flee  away  ! 
'Tis  then  we'll  sing,  and  offerings  bring, 
When  freedom  wins  the  day. 


THE   SLAVE'S   A  MAN,  FOR  A'   THAT. 

Though  stripped  of  all  the  dearest  rights 

Which  nature  claims  and  a'  that, 
There's  that  which  in  the  slave  unites 

To  make  the  man  for  a'  that : 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Though  dark  his  skin,  and  a'  that, 
We  cannot  rob  him  of  his  kind, 

The  slave's  a  man,  for  a'  that. 

Though  by  his  brother  bought  and  sold, 

And  beat  and  scourged,  and  a'  that, 
His  wrongs  can  ne'er  be  felt  or  told, 

Yet  he's  a  man  for  a'  that : 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

His  body  chained  and  a'  that, 
The  image  of  his  God  remains, — 

The  slave's  a  man,  for  a'  that. 

How  dark  the  spirit  that  enslaves  ! 

Yet  darker  still  than  a'  that, 
He,  who  amid  the  light,  still  craves 

Apologies,  and  a'  that : 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Small  evil  finds,  and  a'  that, 
In  crimes  which  are  of  darkest,  hue, 

And  foulest  deeds,  and  a'  that. 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  45 

If  those  who  now  in  bondage  groan, 

Were  white,  and  fair,  and  a'  that, 
O  should  we  not  their  fate  bemoan, 

And  plead  their  cause,  and  a'  that  ? 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Would  any  say,  in  a'  that 
We've  nought  to  do  —  they  are  not  here  — 

We'll  mind  our  own,  and  a'  that  ? 

O  tell  us  not  they're  clothed  and  fed, 

'Tis  insult,  stuff,  and  a'  that  ; 
With  freedom  gone,  all  joy  is~  fled, 

For  Heaven's  best  gift  is  a'  that ! 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

Free  agency,  and  a'  that, 
We  get  from  Him  who  rules  on  high  — 

The  slave  we  rob  of  a'  that. 

Then  think  not  to  escape  His  wrath, 

Who's  equal,  just,  and  a'  that  ; 
His  warning  voice  is  sounded  forth, 

We  heed  it  not,  for  a'  that : 
For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 

'Tis  not  less  sure  for  a'  that  ; 
His  vengeance,  though  'tis  long  delayed, 

Will  come  at  last,  for  a'  that. 


YOUR   BROTHER   IS   A   SLAVE. 

O  weep,  ye  friends  of  Freedom,  weep  ! 

Shout  liberty  no  more  ; 
Your  harps  to  mournful  measures  sweep , 

Till  slavery's  reign  is  o'er. 
O,  furl  your  star-lit  thing  of  light  — 

That  banner  should  not  wave 
Where  vainly  pleading  for  his  right, 

Your  brother  toils — a  Slave  ! 

O  pray,  ye  friends  of  Freedom, 
For  those  who  toil  in  chains, 

Who  lift  their  fettered  hands  to-day 
On  Carolina's  plain  ! 


46  THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP. 

God  is  the  hope  of  the  Oppressed  ; 

His  arm  is  strong  to  save  ; 
Pray,  then,  that  freedom's  cause  be  blest, 

Your  brother  is  a  Slave  f 

O  toil,  ye  friends  of  freedom,  toil ! 

Your  mission  to  fulfil, — 
That  Freedom's  consecrated  soil 

Slaves  may  no  longer  till ; 
Ay,  toil  and  pray  from  deep  disgrace 

Your  native  land  to  save  ; 
Weep  o'er  the  miseries  of  your  race, 

Your  Brother  is  a  slave  ! 


WHAT   MEAN   YE? 

AIR— Ortonville. 

What  me'an  ye  that  ye  bruise  and  bind 

My  people,  saith  the  Lord, 
And  starve  your  craving  brother's  mind, 

Who  asks  to  hear  my  word  ? 

What  mean  ye  that  ye  make  them  toil, 
Through  long  and  dreary  years,       * 

And  shed  like  rain  upon  your  soil 
Their  blood  and  bitter  tears  ? 

What  mean  ye,  that  ye  dare  to  rend 

The  tender  mother's  heart  ? 
Brothers  from  sisters,  friend  from  friend, 

How  dare  you  bid  them  part  ? 

What  mean  ye,  when  God's  bounteous  hand 

To  you  so  much  has  given, 
That  from  the  slave  who  tills  your  land 

Ye  keep  both  earth  and  heaven  ? 

When  at  the  judgment  God  shall  call, 

Where  is  thy  brother  ?  say, 
What  mean  ye  to  the  judge  of  all 

To  answer  on  that  day  ? 


THE    ANTI-SLAVERY    HARP.  47 

EMANCIPATION   SONG. 

AIR — Crambambule. 

Let  waiting  throngs  now  lift  their  voices, 
As  Freedom's  glorious  day  draws  near, 

While  every  gentle  tongue  rejoices,  < 
And  each  bold  heart  is  filled  with  cheer  ; 

The  slave  has  seen  the  Northern  star, 

He'll  soon  be  free,  hurrah,  hurrah  ! 

Though  many  still  are  writhing  under 

The  cruel  whips  of"  chevaliers," 
Who  mothers  from  their  children  sunder, 

And  scourge  them  for  their  helpless  tears  — 
Their  safe  deliverance  is  not  far, 
The  day  draws  nigh  —  hurrah,  hurrah ! 

Just  ere-the  dawn  the  darkness  deepest 

Surrounds  the  earth  as  with  a  pall ; 
Dry  up  thy  tears,  O  thou  that  weepest, 

That  on  thy  sight  the  rays  may  fall  ! 
No  doubt  let  now  thy  bosom  mar  ; 
Send  up  the  shout  —  hurrah,  hurrah  ! 

Shall  we  distrust  the  God  of  heaven  ?  — 

He  every  doubt  and  fear  will  quell ; 
By  him  the  captive's  chains  are  riven  — 

So  let  us  loud  the  chorus  swell! 
Man  shall  be  free  from  cruel  law,  — 
Man  shall  be  MAN  ! — hurrah,  hurrah  ! 

No  more  again  shall  it  be  granted 

To  southern  overseers  to  rule ; 
No  more  will  pilgrim's  sons  be  taunted 

With  cringing  low  in  slavery's  school. 
So  clear  the  way  for  Freedom  s  car, 
The  free  shall  rule  ! — hurrah,  hurrah ! 

Send  up  the  shout  Emancipation  — 
From  heaven  let  the  echoes  bound  — 

Soon  will  it  bless  this  franchised  nation, 
Come  raise  again  the  stirring  sound  ! 

Emancipation  near  and  far  — 

Send  up  the  shout — hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 


fc  449 
A ;6  22.4 


INDEX 


Page 

A  Sons;  for  Freedom, 

Are  ye  truly  Free?  -           42 

Blind  Slave  Boy,          -  -                                                                               -      5 

Bereaved  Slave  Mother,      -  18 
Be  Free,  O  Man,  be  Free, 

Come  join  the  Abolitionists,  -           43 

Emancipation  Song,   -  -    47 

Freedom's  Star,    -  7 
Freedom's  Banner, 
Flight  of  the  Bondman, 

Fling  out  the  Anti-Slavery  Flag,  -    22 
Fugitive  Slave  to  the  Christian, 
Fugitive's  Triumph, 

Get  off  tl!e  Track,     "  25 

I  am  an  Abolitionist,  -    17 

I'll  be  Free,  I'll  be  Free,    -  19 

Jefferson's  Daughter,  -    23 

Jubilee  Song,  11 

Liberty  Ball,                -  -      8 

Lament  of  the  Fugitive  Slave,  -           30 

North  Star,   -  9 

Over  the  Mountain,  10 

O,  Pity  the  Slave  Mother,  -      4 

On  to  Victory,      -               -  -               -           32 

Oft  in  the  Chilly  Night,  -    41 

Rescue  the  Slave,  -           28 

Right  on,       -  -    34 

Spirit  of  Freemen,  Wake,  12 

Scfcig  for  the  Times,    -  -    13 

Song  of  the  Coffle  Gang,     -  29 

The  Slave's  Lamentation,  -               -                                                             -    12 

The  Sweets  of  Liberty,       -  15 

The  Yankee  Girl,        -  -    20 

The  Slave  Auction,  -           24 
The  Bondman, 
The  Man  for  Me, 

The  Slave's  Song,       -  -    38 

There's  a  Good  Time  coming,  -                                                            -           39 

The  Bigot  Fire,  -    40 

The  Slave 's  a  Man,  for  a'  that,  44 

We're  coming,  We're  Coming,  -                                                               -    31 

What  Mean  Ye?  46 

Ye  Sons  of  Freemen,  -                                                                                     0 

Ye  Spirits  of  the  Free,        -  -                               -                               -            Ifi 

Ye  Heralds  of  Freedom,  .-                                               -     2!) 

Your  Brother  is  a  Slave,     -  45 


• 


•• 


United  States,  your  banner  wears 

Two  emblems, — one  of  fame ; 

Alas,  the  other  that  it  bears, 

Reminds  us  of  your  shame. 

The  white  man's  liberty  entypes, 

Stands  blazoned  by  your  stars ; 

But  what's  the  meaning  of  your  stripes, 

They  mean  your  Negro-scars. — Thomas  Campbell. 


